


German Wine, Turpentine, Gertrude Stein

by matcha_tea



Category: Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Gratuitous Poetry, Implied Robin/Starfire, Multilingual Character, Old-Fashioned Names, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10058498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matcha_tea/pseuds/matcha_tea
Summary: Changeling is embarrassed by her first name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic glosses over season five of the animated show, includes text from Gertrud Kolmar's "Die Dichterin/The Woman Poet," and the title comes from RENT's "La Vie Boheme." I don't know where this came from, honestly. Enjoy!

* * *

 

“We’re all very proud of you, Gertrude. Take care.”

“Ger… trude?” She heard Cyberion echo her name in disbelief even as the Doom Patrol’s jet took off. And then it was just the five of them, and Changeling could only pretend to stare at the sky for so long.

“I’m going to get a _lot_ of mileage out of this one,” said Raven. Changeling turned to them with a nervous laugh.

 

\--

 

“Y'know, I just thought of something,” Cyberion said one afternoon.

There hadn’t been much downtime following their mission with the Doom Patrol, but Cy made it a point to rope Robin and Changeling into a few rounds of Mega Monkeys. She claimed the team needed to be relaxed and ready to take on the Brotherhood of Evil.

Robin gave up once she realized Cy hacked her vehicle to slide around the track with console commands (“And I can’t even catch you doing it if you don’t need a keyboard!”). At that point, it was just her and the green bean lounging on the couch.

“Mm?” Changeling was more focused on the game than her cybernetic friend, determined to prove she could still win no matter what Cy threw at her.

“BG, your tag,” she continued. Behind them, the door to the living room slid open.

“I know you keep it from your Beast Girl days, but it’s got so much more _potential._ ”

“Please don’t,” Changeling groaned.

“Beast _Gertrude._ Best Gertrude! Big Gertrude, Baby Gertrude,” the cyborg cackled with every new name. “What’s short for Gertrude? Trudy? _Gertie!"_ There were tears in her organic eye. "Hoo, boy!"

“The possibilities are endless,” Raven’s gravelly voice remarked from the kitchen. Changeling flung herself at Cyberion in an attempt to stop her.

“Personally, I like Gertrude the Great,” he said, passing by with a fresh cup of tea. “One of the better thirteenth century saints.”

A moment of silence followed his exit.

Changeling resumed clawing at Cyberion. “I hate you so much!”

 

\--

 

By the time the Titans split up across the globe to warn other superpowered teens about the Brotherhood, Cyberion must have figured out every variant of Changeling’s first name in the books, and then some. Every time she reported in, Cy just had to call her something embarrassing in front of their new teammates.

When the Titans first started to make a name for themselves on the West Coast, she considered changing her alias. In the end, she became Changeling for the press. Villains would have to dig deep to connect her back to the Doom Patrol, and she kind of liked the gender-neutral thing her teammates had going on. She wanted to think people took her more seriously after the name change. But Cyberion was hell-bent on calling her _Gertie._

And after climbing up an entire mountain range for Jericho, Changeling had little patience for being the butt of the joke.

The silent heroine peered over her shoulder as she opened her video feed. “Changeling here. I’ve patched Jericho in and I’m waiting for my next assignment.”

“Trudester! What a pleasant surprise.” Cy popped up on the screen first, nearly drowned out by the wrestling match happening in the background. Changeling scowled at her.

“Panther got our update.” The wrestling hero waved, otherwise occupied by putting another man in a headlock. “Good to see our dear Gertrude made it up to you, Jericho!”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Changeling began, brow twitching. “I’m Changeling to the Titans, not my damn grandma. I don’t care if our friends call me string bean, but I don’t need them using my first name on the field. You encouraged Gnarrk to call me _Gnarrk-Gnarrk._ Too far, Victoria Stone!”

Cy gasped. “How did you—?!”

“You have aliases, you two. I expect you to use them.” Robin appeared on the screen, her hair immaculate despite a strong breeze ruffling her cape.

“Oh!” Both girls yelped, recognizing Robin’s patented tone of disapproval.

“And Changeling,” the shapeshifter’s ears drooped as Robin glared at the communicator. “Birth names are classified information. We don’t need any cases of superhero identity theft on our watch, with Monsieur Rouge still on the loose.”

“Duly noted,” she replied quietly. She caught an apologetic look from Cy while Robin went on to list a number of heroes still in need of a communicator.

“You have your assignments,” their leader concluded their call with a worn out sigh. “Stay alert. Stay safe. Stay together. Robin out.”

In the end, though, the Brotherhood didn’t even need names to infiltrate their ranks.

 

\--

 

Eventually, Cyberion let up on the ridiculous nicknames and stuck to calling her CG. Changeling _had_ just pulled off a last-minute victory against the Brotherhood and been instrumental in rounding up all remaining villains. Cy would only pull out the big guns—like _Gertie_ —when she really wanted to tease the shapeshifter. It was just one of those family things.

Life in the Tower went on.

 

\--

 

Changeling wasn’t sure how to explain the sudden influx of tunes from Broadway musicals of the forties and fifties that filled the halls of the tower.

She overheard Robin humming “Shall We Dance?” during a training session, and Cyberion listened to the entire _Peter Pan_ soundtrack—the one with Mary Martin, not the animated version—while she was working on the T-Car.

Raven, of all people, had walked into the common room with headphones one day and she could clearly hear him nodding along to “Cockeyed Optimist.”

Even Starfire got caught up in the madness, announcing he wanted to watch _The Sound of Music_ for their Friday movie night.

“I’m not exactly complaining, because this stuff is kind of my childhood, but what’s going on, you guys?” Changeling demanded when Raven got up to fetch the DVD.

The rest of the team exchanged looks of varying guilt. At least Starfire just looked mildly puzzled.

“Cy,” the shapeshifter began in warning.

“It’s not entirely her fault.”

Raven had, apparently, decided not to use his telekinesis for a reason. He brandished a number of record sleeves, including _The King and I, Peter Pan,_ and _South Pacific._ In his other hand, the empath held their movie.

“Gertrud ‘Trude’ Rittman provided dance and choral arrangements for over fifty Broadway musicals…”

Changeling hated his pseudo-lecturer voice, she really did. She could hear him smirk even while his face remained perfectly stoic.

“Richard Rodgers, of Rodgers and Hammerstein, was a longtime associate of hers, as well as Frederick Loewe, of Lerner and Loewe…”

“Dude, you’re definitely making fun of me,” said Changeling, eyes narrowed. “You’re conspiring against me and all the Gertrudes of the world, and I’m not having it!” She got up dramatically.

“But you love _The Sound of Music,”_ Robin said peaceably. “You sing some of the songs in the shower sometimes. She arranged that part in Do-Re-Mi where all the kids take one note and they sound like a bell tower; she did some of the dance numbers too.”

“Please, my friend, I’ve been hearing so much about this Gertrude,” Starfire added with a beseeching smile. “And you do seem to know so much about musicals, I was surprised when you did not seem to recognize her work.”

Changeling slumped back on the couch and crossed her arms.

“I _did_ want to be an actress when I was younger. Hollywood or Broadway... you gotta admit, I would have made a great Elphaba,” she said with a reluctant smile. “You guys win. But I’m singing Maria’s part!”

 

\--

 

“Would you pass me the ketchup, friend Gertrude?” Starfire asked absentmindedly, during one of their team dinners.

Robin nearly dropped a bowl of salad. Cyberion started to laugh over the stove. Even Raven raised a brow over his cup of tea.

Changeling looked up from setting the table, despairing.

“Oh, come on, Starfire...”

“I apologize.” The alien flushed. “I spoke to my k'norfka earlier today about news from home and, well. Your name is remarkably similar to some Tamaranian names. Gautrand’r, for instance,” he said, warping the syllables in an alarming fashion, “Means ‘fair-haired disciple of war.’ Why do you dislike yours so?”

“It’s my name, sure, but it’s also… not,” said Changeling. The team sat down and they began to eat.

“Gertrude was my grandmother’s middle name. She died before I was born. Every time someone calls me that, I think back to the Doom Patrol and Mento’s _lectures._ Gertrude this, Gertrude that. If she wasn’t criticizing me during drills, she was telling me to do my math homework.”

Changeling stabbed at a piece of kale. “It didn’t always feel that way, especially when the rest of the team used our real names. It kept us close. But we were more formal about that stuff. My real parents… my biological ones. They called me True.”

Something clicked for Robin, who looked up with a smile. “True Joy Logan, eh?”

“Don’t look so surprised, didn’t we encrypt the team’s personnel files together?” she directed this to Cyberion, whose mouth had dropped.

Changeling sat up suddenly. “Wait, so that time I was looking for Raven’s birthday info…”

“I wasn’t in charge of cyber security at that point,” their leader laughed and gave a pointed glance to Cy.

 _“Anyway,_ y’all know my name, Victoria Stone,” said the cyborg hastily. “Straightforward enough, but I definitely let it get to my head when I played football in high school. The school paper called me their Lady of Perpetual Victory.” Cy snorted. “I preferred Vic, but my folks called me Tori.”

“I… this conversation doesn’t leave the table, alright?” Robin grimaced a little. “My name has a couple meanings: protective hands, wise protector, defender. It’s Spanish, or German?”

“Ramona, with roots in both,” Raven supplied, the tower’s resident polyglot and the only one to experience a trip through their leader’s mind.

Robin didn’t seem too upset by the revelation, just a bit uncomfortable.

“Never liked the name much after I watched my parents die,” she said shortly.

Starfire put his hand over Robin’s. “Members of the royal family of Tamaran inherit several names, and ‘Starfire’ is not a literal translation of any of mine. I chose my name after my brother sold me to the Citadel.”

“The monks of Azarath named me,” said Raven, when his turn came to contribute. “Even they believed ravens were symbols of death and war. But, considering all you did to help me avert a certain prophecy, and a number of cultures that see ravens as benevolent messengers, even symbols of good luck… mine is not the worst namesake.”

What could have spiraled into a depressing conversation had been diverted by their usually-dour teammate. Raven had a rare warmth in his eyes and, to the rest of the table’s delight, Starfire realized he was still holding Robin’s hand. The two of them flailed around and blushed, giving Cyberion—finally—another target to tease.

Changeling breathed in.

“Seems to me like we could use some pizza, my dudes,” she said lightly. “Why don’t we go out tonight?”

 

\--

 

Changeling returned from a mission with Titans North to find her hallway transformed into some sort of art gallery.

“Using chores to avoid me… clever,” she muttered, glancing around with suspicion. Robin sent her a text about groceries earlier that morning; she should have known something was up when Cyberion sent her the same message an hour or two later. It looked like everyone had left the tower. Still, she tiptoed by Raven’s room just in case.

The pictures were evenly spaced and in the same glossy photo print, but each had different handwriting at the bottom. Robin catalogued the birth and death days of her Gertrudes, when she could find them, and included  little fun facts about them. Cyberion’s were more irreverent comments about pictures themselves, especially low-res scans from medieval manuscripts.

Her favorites were Starfire’s, though; he wrote about a few members of Tamaran’s royal family that looked similar, or had crazy religious visions of X’Hal like Saint Gertrude, or slayed something impressive or other.

As she stopped in front of her door, Changeling peered at the bottom of the picture they slapped on its surface. She recognized Raven’s handwriting immediately.

“Gertrude, Queen of Denmark.” She sighed at the image of Julie Christie from the 1996 version of _Hamlet_. “I’m surprised you picked the Kenneth Branagh movie. He changed the setting entirely. You usually hate when directors mess with that stuff.” She turned to face Raven as he floated over. He hadn’t bothered hiding the rustle of his cloak. Her ears twitched.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Raven said, and Changeling rolled her eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she complained.

"Payback for making such a big deal about my birthday," he answered immediately. But his delivery was too flat. Changeling leveled him with an unimpressed stare.

"Even if that was true, I've been living with you too long to let you monotone your way out of this. Why are you _really_ encouraging this?"

She used to pester Raven about smiling more, but the few times she succeeded had been... confusing. Usually it was far more satisfying to see his lip curl in disapproval, because it meant Raven found their situation hilarious and he was trying not to show it. He was smiling now, and Changeling was doomed.

"The rest of us rarely get a chance to prank the prank master. You must admit, it is a little funny."

“Okay, yeah,” she replied easily. “But, like, if your name was Garfield, I’d cut out a few comic strips and replace your bookmarks, and that would be it. What’s so great about Gertrude?” She pouted.

“We’ve been a team for a few years now. It’s interesting how little we shared about our previous lives until now,” Raven shrugged, peeling the pictures off the walls with a flash of telekinesis and depositing them all neatly into Changeling’s open hands. “It’s… nice, to know more about each other.”

She blinked at his retreating back and wondered why her heart had skipped a beat.

 

\--

 

There was a book on the coffee table.

Raven was normally quite meticulous about his belongings, never one to leave a book unattended. Changeling held it out at arm’s length, the way someone else might hold a tarantula or a boa constrictor, as she made her way to his room.

“Raven?” she rapped her knuckles on the door. “I think you left something in the living room?”

His was the only door that didn’t slide open automatically, or maybe Raven was just really good at using his magic to intimidate visitors. He peered down at her.

“I was hoping you’d open it,” he told her, with well-hidden wry humor. “There’s a note on the inside cover.”

He didn’t shut the door in her face as she fumbled with the pages, which she decided to take as a good sign.

 _“Geography and Plays,_ by Gertrude Stein,” Changeling read aloud, glancing over the inside cover and index. “I see you’re still adding to your mileage.”

“The note,” Raven said, gentle but firm.

“‘Sacred Emily,’ page 178. Let me know what you think.” When Changeling blushed, she turned a funny brown color. She could feel her face heat up. “Okay? What’s this really about?”

“We’ll talk after I’m done meditating.” He disappeared back into his room. Changeling frowned.

 

\--

 

“Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,” Changeling called to him while she and Cy were in the middle of some racing game or other.

She cursed as Cy knocked her off the track, but scrambled to sit up and look over the couch as Raven glided towards the kitchen.

“I don’t get it,” she continued, aware that she’d interrupted Robin and Starfire’s chess game and Cy had crossed the finish line without her. “I caught onto the stream of consciousness thing, and it was cool, but _confusing._ Why’d you underline that bit?”

Realizing the rest of the room was more interested in their conversation than anything else, Raven came over with a fresh cup of tea and accepted the book from Changeling’s extended arm.

“It’s one of her best-known lines, and she comes back to it in a number of her other poems,” he said, deliberately obtuse.

“That can’t be the only reason.”

Of all the Titans, Changeling’s emotions were the loudest. Her irritation showed in bright orange spikes. Robin and Starfire were still pink around the edges from their extensive flirting, but their leader quickly turned her attention to the conversation unfolding between her fellow teammates with a focus that bloomed slate-blue. Cyberion filled the picture with a neon-green Raven usually recognized as _schadenfreude._ He held back a smirk.

“Rose is a name, an action, a color, a flower." He tucked his legs into the lotus position, floating at about Changeling's eye level. The shapeshifter realized she was still leaning over the back of the couch but couldn't find it in herself to move.

“Words have multiple meanings. And yet, imagery and emotions stay attached to them even in disparate contexts,” the empath elaborated. “Gertrude Stein was a student of psychologist William James, who coined the phrase ‘stream of consciousness’ in the first place. In one of her lectures, she explained that when the Romantic poets mentioned roses, they were referring to the actual flower, but for later writers? A rose could stand in for a beautiful woman, a declaration of love, or any number of romantic things.”

“This is another Gertrude thing? _Et tu,_ Raven?” Robin remarked, fully aware that Raven had been a willing participant in their jokes thus far.

“If we’re going to share with Changeling the illustrious history of her first name,” Raven said, in what would have been a very reasonable tone if he hadn’t ruined it with his deadpan delivery, “Then we all ought to know a little more about the problem of universals.”

“Anyone ever tell you,” Cy was snorting with laughter as she spoke up, “You got the devil’s sense of humor?”

 

\--

 

Another morning found scientists and athletes of her namesake spread across their coffee table, and Changeling realized what she really wanted was to hear more about the artists, the musicians, the writers. She wondered if Raven would have something else for her to read.

 

\--

 

“Are you busy?”

Changeling was busy feeling sorry for herself. She had spent the past week being utterly embarrassing, trying to get an old teammate to remember a life he wanted desperately to leave behind. There was little doubt in her mind that Terran knew her. _Things change, Beast Girl,_ he’d said. _The guy you want me to be is just a memory._ Beast Girl. No ordinary citizen would have called her that.

“I’m not really in the mood for name-related jokes, so…” Changeling watched as Raven crossed the rooftop to join her. A worn hardcover book peaked out between the folds of his cloak.

“I just wanted to share a poem with you.” He offered the book to her and sat cross-legged at the edge of the roof with her, right on the cold concrete.

“This is all in German,” Changeling noted, as she flipped through the first few pages. But she quickly realized this volume of poetry had English translations on the inner pages, and Raven had placed something near the middle of the book to mark a page.

She opened it up to find a rose.

“Du hältst mich in den Händen ganz und gar,” Raven began, and oh, wow, he was actually going to recite to her. Changeling held the book up to her face, a vain attempt to hide her blush.

 _You hold me now completely in your hands,_ the translated page helpfully supplied.

_My heart beats like a frightened little bird's_

_Against your palm. Take heed! You do not think_

_A person lives within the page you thumb._

_To you this book is paper, cloth, and ink…_

This poem was completely unlike the last, and Raven—who once claimed his attempts at singing were as bad as his namesake, all low and tuneless croaking—had a wonderful voice for poetry. Each word was carefully spoken, each line flowed as if he’d memorized it ages ago.

If this was all meant to tease her, she’d be disappointed, Changeling realized. What a reversal. Raven was always the one complaining that she never took anything seriously, and with all the teasing he and Cy had done recently… well. He couldn’t blame her if she shot him a suspicious look.

“Vernimmst du auch, was fühlt?” _You hear me speak, but do you hear me feel?_

“Raven…” she said, at a loss for words.

“Gertrud Käthe Chodziesner, also known as Gertrud Kolman, was one of my favorite poets, even before we learned your real name.” Raven studiously looked out at Jump City bay as he told her this, as if he hadn’t just shared a heart-wrenching, vulnerable piece of writing. "She was a German Jew, arrested in Nazi Germany. She died in Auschwitz."

Things changed. Things change. Things, things, things.

How could she stay upset when he was being so honest?

“So," he said, with a note of forced lightness she'd never heard from him before. "I wanted to share this with you. I know Cyberion and I have been putting you through the wringer lately, but this is my last… lesson, I suppose.” With each word he retreated into his cloak, into his familiar monotone. _Oh, no you don't,_ Changeling found herself thinking.

And then he still managed to find a way to surprise her.

“I do have a growing list of things I find great about Gertrude Logan," he murmured. "If she’s willing to listen.”

Raven was many things. Stoic, prickly, defensive, pessimistic, and a number of other words she only knew because he’d bought her a word-a-day calendar for her birthday.

But there were many times where she caught a flash of his wicked sense of humor and wondered if he was still the sullen teen that first offered his powers to help defend Jump City. Lately, being on the receiving end of his jokes had been… fun. Maybe even a little flattering. She picked up the rose and twirled it between her fingers, mindful of the thorns he chose not to remove.

 _Raven is a raven is a raven is a raven,_ she tried the thought on for size, watching the hint of color on his cheeks grow. _I learn something new about you every day._

“I just might be,” she said, and leaned over to kiss the corner of his mouth.


End file.
